Page 101 of One Last Stand

“I’d really prefer to have Pippa on the line,” Fraser had said, “but she needs to stay here with the princess. She’s technically her secretary, but I don’t trust Imani’s protection to anyone else.”

Whatever.Shep couldn’t care a whit about some stupid princess.

“I’ll get the tech you need,” promised Mitch, and by the time Moose had arrived, they had the chopper loaded and ready for its pilot. Shep had even found medical supplies, a stretcher, and a survival pack aboard, so Fraser’s friend’s contact might be in the rescue business too.

They’d climbed aboard, and he’d noticed that Fraser and York had kitted up, wearing body armor, carrying weapons, the spec ops part of the team. The rest wore jackets and pants, and he’d wished for the safety of flight suits. They also wore European-style suspender harnesses, which he’d customized to fit. He’d already checked all of their webbing and the winch. Good to go.

Fraser had clipped two ropes into the brackets in the top inside edge of the door—their fast ropes, maybe. As they’d taken off, the duo had climbed into harnesses, added descenders, then hooked into the line.

Now they sat, weapons across their backs, buckled in.

Him too. He’d already fitted his harness on, as had Axel, and Boo would run the line. He didn’t know the other chopper pilot—a male—who had climbed in front beside Moose. He wore sunglasses and seemed to know the terrain, so maybe a local.

Now, nearly twenty-four hours since the world had gone dark and London had been snatched from under his nose—twenty-four hours of wanting to throw up, to hit something, to take apart every choice he’d made since finding London alive—he soared over the mountains.

He should never have let her leave Alaska.

They’d left the valley, climbing into the altitudes, the occasional hunting cabin or sheep farm coming into view. A deep-blue lake sat in a pocket surrounded by whitened peaks, a small congregation of houses along the shoreline. A misty cloud hung to the east, and in the west, the falling sun cast deep, long shadows into the valleys.

According to their plan, they’d arrive onsite just as the sun set, hopefully also distracting London’s captors from any clear shots at the chopper.

His entire body had turned cold with that comment, made by Moose, when York had briefed him on the details.

Which indicated, however, that his boss understood the gravity of their situation. Moose had been a military rescue pilot once upon a time, so he knew all about edge-of-the-spear ops.

There would be no Purple Hearts if the chopper went down.

Shep glanced at Moose at the helm. Wow, he didn’t deserve these guys. The fact that they’d shown up . . .

Moose’s voice came through the headset. “According to GPS, we’re ten clicks away. I’ll do a flyover, and then we can deploy if you guys are a go.”

Fraser gave him a thumbs-up.

Interesting to see their brief reunion. Apparently Moose had plucked Fraser’s brother out of the freezing Bering Sea last year. Shep hadn’t gone on that op—Harrington, one of his buddies from the PEAK team in Montana, had been up visiting, and Moose had been trying to recruit him, so Moose had taken him out on the ride into the wild, churning lethal blue.

Shep had been thinking about reaching out to the PEAK guys, seeing if there might be a place for him?—

“There it is,” York said.

The castle seemed to grow out of the mountainside, backed up against a yawning cave, maybe seven levels in total including the two towers on each end. Black slate roofs, small windows, but along the walkway, larger leaded-glass windows suggested Fraser’s plan might work. The setting sun had turned them golden, the entire place an imposing prison.

Fraser lowered a monocular. “I don’t see any guards.”

Moose pulled up over the mountain, and they got a good look at the depth of the cave. Snowpack covered the backside of the mountain, falling into lush green forest at the bottom that washed down to a valley, cordoned on every side with more high snow-layered peaks. About halfway down the slope, on a ridge, framed by a scattering of trees and surrounded by snow, a small clearing held an A-frame hunting cabin.

Below, in the valley, maybe thirty clicks in the distance, sat another red-roofed storybook village.

Moose angled the chopper around. “We’ll go in from the top, take them by surprise. Get ready to go, and I’ll bring you as close as I can.”

Shep opened the door and clipped his lead to the bar on the top while he unhooked the line from the winch.

They flew over the top of the mountain. Fraser and York had also gotten up, holding on to their bottom rope with one gloved hand, the above-door bar with the other.

“It’s been a while since I’ve fast-roped,” York said.

Fraser looked at him.

The chopper moved over the fortress, descending, the walkway extending from the stone maybe ten feet deep and some fifty feet below.

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